


Aggie

by thegrendel



Category: HEINLEIN Robert A. - Works, Original Work
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Oedipal Issues, Regret, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: What happened to that ex-girlfriend who vanished without a trace? Maybe you don't really want to find out.





	Aggie

Like a huge heap of steaming dog turds, DIA looms over the bleak prairie.  
Its institutional appearance reminds me of Cold War era Soviet  
architecture, and I try to avoid this particularly dismal airport like  
the plague. But my favorite aunt was gravely ill, and I had to see her  
before she died.
    
    
        I've always had a talent for making unpleasant things go away. In the
        fifth grade it was an especially nasty bully who had singled me out
        for his attentions. In desperation, I wished, wished as hard as I
        could, that he would just disappear out of my life. The following day
        he didn't show up at school. The police searched for months, but he
        was never found.
    

Aunt Agatha was the only one who ever understood me. My parents were  
well-meaning, but distant, and I can't recall my mother ever drying  
my tears or giving me a hug. But Agatha was always there for me, and  
she let me lay my head on her ample maternal bosom and cry myself out  
whenever the pain of existence was too much to bear.
    
    
        In Basic Training, the drill sergeant seemed to have a hardon for me.
        I was always the one on punishment detail, the one he cussed out and
        mocked for being a "pussy," the one he used as a scapegoat for
        anything that wasn't quite shipshape at inspection. Oh, how I wished
        he would disappear, just go away and never be seen again. Then one
        morning we had a new drill sergeant, and no one would answer questions
        about what had happened to the old one.
    

Landing in the so-called Queen City of the West at five in the morning  
doesn't necessarily leave one in the best of moods. Lord, how I hate that  
place! It was bad enough having to grow up in that jumped up cow town,  
but seeing it transformed into a trendy, pseudo-cosmopolitan hi-tech  
mecca makes me want to puke.

The car rental counter was already besieged, even at that hour. I had to  
wait in line for forty minutes in spite of having made a reservation. It  
was a relief to finally be able to drive out of the place in a late-model  
Dodge Freon.
    
    
        For a time, Aggie was the love of my life. We had met at a mutual
        friend's New Year's party. I noticed the striking redhead with
        dangerous curves the moment I walked in, but thought, no, I'd never
        stand a chance with a looker like that. But, she walked right up
        to me, and as I stood there stammering and staring down at my feet,
        she put on a silly grin. Then she asked if the pain ever got too
        much for me to bear.
    
        "The pain?"
    
        "The pain of existence. Of living day in and day out in a cruel,
        indifferent universe."
    
        "Yes, we bear our scars inside, and sometimes our anguish expresses
        itself in an unintended grimace, or an accidental teardrop."
    
        I don't know what moved me to spout that hokum. But it worked.
    
        "Ah, a kindred soul," she said.
    
         And so it began.
    

She had tubes coming out of her arms and torso. They didn't expect her  
to survive the night.

"Auntie Agatha," I said.

Her eyes opened.

I leaned forward as she tried to say something.

"Bennie." It was a barely audible whisper.

"Don't try to talk, Auntie." I reached out to touch her.

"No," she said. "No." She clutched my hand and sighed.

"My child," she said, "my lost treasure."

"Auntie -- "

"No. Listen. This needs to be said. Before I die . . . must be told."

Told _what_?

"Not . . . not your aunt."

"Auntie -- "

"I'm not your aunt!"

_Not my aunt?_

"Listen to me. Remember . . . remember the night we found each other.  
That night at . . . at the party. That night . . . the pain . . . the  
pain of existence."

_The pain of existence._
    
    
        She wouldn't let me alone. Bad enough that she'd call me four or
        five times a day at my workplace. But, she also had this annoying
        habit of dropping in unannounced at my apartment and more or less
        demanding sex right then and there. And even when you're not in a
        particularly lusty mood, it's hard to turn down a needy woman when
        she's rubbing her nipples against you and grabbing your crotch. It
        was very inconvenient.
    
        I'd never known a woman as hot to trot as Aggie. She was obsessed
        with sex. On the nights she slept over, I'd all too often awaken
        early to find her tightly clutching my morning erection and --
        full bladder or not -- be compelled to stick it right into her. In
        public, she'd pull me over into a semi-concealed spot -- into the
        bushes or an unoccupied restroom -- and just bend over and flip up
        her skirt. It was embarrassing. It was exasperating. It was a mad,
        exciting whirl. And I didn't know how much more of it I could handle.
    
        Maybe she had gotten careless about taking her Pill. Or possibly it
        was a deliberate ploy to bind me to her. In any case, it happened.
        She somehow got pregnant.
    

I stumbled out of that hospital room and barely managed to make it to  
the parking lot before I puked my guts out. The rest of that day was a  
blur. I just couldn't face Aunt Agatha, or myself, any more.

That evening I got a phone call. Agatha had died earlier in the day. Just  
minutes after I had left her.
    
    
        I'd had my fill of Aggie. More than my fill. Sure, the sex was fine,
        better than fine even. But, I just couldn't deal with a pregnant
        woman. A pregnant woman carrying my child. Who absolutely insisted on
        bearing that child. And who threatened me with dire consequences if
        I didn't assume my share of the responsibility. If I didn't marry her.
    
        I wished she'd go away, just disappear out of my life. I wished hard.
        Real hard. And, one morning she didn't call me at work. She didn't
        show up at my apartment that night. Or the next. A week later,
        when I finally got around to making inquiries about her, no one
        could tell me anything. She had just plain disappeared.
    

I somehow managed to attend the funeral. Afterward, my mother pulled  
me aside.

"Ben," she said, "Agatha wanted you to have this to remember her by."  
And she thrust what looked like a leather-bound diary into my hands.

I couldn't bear to look at it. I had a sudden premonition that I'd find  
my own damnation in its pages. But, curiosity finally forced me to open  
the book.
    
    
        May 27, 1969
    
        I'm finally beginning to get over the shock. I still have no idea
        how it happened, but here I am, thirty years in the past.
    
        Time travel? Well, maybe, but I couldn't begin to say how. All I know
        is that I was just lifting the phone to call Him when . . . when
        there was this blinding flash . . . and I lost consciousness. When
        I came to, everything had changed.
    
        I was lying in a ditch by the roadside, naked and bruised. My first
        thought was: My Baby!
    
        I must have been staggering around and screaming incoherently. A
        highway patrolman had me draped in a blanket and was trying to calm
        me down. Between my sobs, I couldn't make out what he was saying.
    
        The baby was all right. Four months along and all indications normal,
        they said at the hospital. But, they wouldn't release me just yet,
        and I could hardly blame them. No ID or money and babbling a story
        that didn't make sense. Finally, we settled on trauma-induced
        amnesia. Memory loss.
    
        Memory loss! I remembered every moment of my life! And every lovely
        and painful moment with Ben, damn him. I loved him, but he pushed
        me away. Somehow, I couldn't help feeling he'd had something to
        do with this bizarre thing that had happened to me. Cut off from
        friends, family, everything familiar. Pushed back into the 60s!
        The era of the hippies and Viet Nam, for gosh sake. Before I was
        even born. What would I do?
    

So, _that_ was what happened to people I wished away. They were  
safely "buried" in the past. The dead past.
    
    
        July 15, 1969
    
        Bastille Day. Hooray.
    
        The Murrays have told me I can stay with them until I have a place
        of my own. They're a young married couple still in their 20s. So
        optimistic. All their life before them, and the whole world for them
        to conquer. Not realizing all the tragedy and sorrow in store for
        them, and the rest of humankind, in the coming decades.
    
        The pregnancy is starting to show.
    
    
    
        August 23, 1969
    
        This is my baby. Mine! The only thing I have left that's truly mine.
        I wouldn't abort it even if it were legal. And, if memory serves me,
        it won't be legal until 1973.
    

Uh, oh.
    
    
        November 2, 1969
    
        He's such a beautiful baby boy. Luminous green eyes, just like Ben.
        And, that's just what I named him. Ben.
    
    
    
        Thanksgiving Day, 1969
    
        I didn't really have much choice. With what little money I was making
        as a maid and doing people's wash, I couldn't possibly support a
        child. And, with no established identity I didn't have a hope of
        getting on Welfare. It was either giving Ben up to an agency, or --
    
        The Murrays will adopt him. It's a fortunate choice. They're a fine
        upstanding couple, and they'll let me drop in and visit Ben whenever
        I'd like. In fact, they'll let me pretend I'm his loving aunt. Instead
        of his loving mother.
    

This is getting just too damned weird.
    
    
        May 21, 1971
    
        The second anniversary of my "arrival." Had cake and ice cream to
        celebrate.
    
        I'm still not earning much, but at least I no longer have to make
        beds and scrub floors. I found a decent secretarial job, finally, and
        I'm making payments on a used car. Darn it, why did all my up-to-date
        technical skills turn out to be so useless here? I used to be quite
        a hotshot Website designer and Java programmer, but that doesn't
        translate to doing anything with the big-iron mainframe computers that
        businesses rely on in this time and place. (Can you believe keypunch
        machines and noisy teletype terminals?) Not to mention that I don't
        have anything in the way of credentials that anyone would recognize.
    
        Well, I'm managing to put aside a little each month after expenses.
        Some of it will go for Ben's college education, of course, but I have
        some ideas, too. I seem to recall that investments in companies like
        Intel, and later, Apple and Microsoft, will pay off. Meanwhile, I run
        the office coffeepot, and type and take dictation.
    
    
    
        August 21, 1975
    
        Ben is a sweet kid. Sharp as a tack and eager to please. But, it's
        uncanny how much he's starting to resemble his namesake. Even his
        little-boy voice has the many of the same inflections. Could it be
        that -- ?
    
        No! Mustn't think such thoughts.
    

I think I know where all this is headed. Got to put that diary aside and  
think a while. Got to get a hold of myself and . . .
    
    
        May 2, 1983
    
        There's no doubt in my mind now. None.
    
        Ben has the same pattern of moles behind his left shoulder that . . .
    
        What can this all mean? My lover leaves me pregnant and discards me,
        then I get entangled in the coils of time . . . only to bear the
        child that will become . . .
    
        Mustn't let on that I know or alter my treatment of him. It's not
        his fault, or anyway, it won't be for quite a few more years. And,
        I do love him. And his father, too. Still. In spite of everything.
    

There was a letter in the mail. It was from the law firm handling Agatha's  
estate. I had inherited some money. Forty million dollars.
    
    
        January 23, 1994
    
        Memory has served me very well, it seems. My investment portfolio has
        made me wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.
    
        My needs are few, and I certainly don't much care about living in
        luxury. It's nice to know, though, that I need never again worry
        about working or about retirement income. And I have something to
        leave behind for my child . . . and lover.
    

Forty million dollars! I was set for the rest of my life. Expensive cars.  
Travel. Women. The best of everything.

So why did I feel this damn guilt? This burning shame? I had done nothing  
wrong! Nothing, damn it! Just wished inconvenient people out of my life.  
Just wished . . .

For the first time in my life, I wished, wished hard, that _I myself_  
could just disappear. I --

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering, dear reader, this story was indeed inspired by Bob Heinlein's All You Zombies.


End file.
